


They're Not Pants

by AutumnDreams



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:05:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1695842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnDreams/pseuds/AutumnDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU one-shot set sometimes series 2. This isn't serious, just something silly. "The damn Americans won't be satisfied until they've managed to bastardize the entire English language."</p>
            </blockquote>





	They're Not Pants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosetintedblindspot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosetintedblindspot/gifts).



_**AN: I'm not sure what I'm thinking, except it's quarter after 12 at night and I've had little more than 5 hours sleep in the last 48. Just a silly little one shot for my favorite friend Rosetintedblindspot - thank you for the picture of Peter's golden hair and our purple trunks! ^^** _

* * *

"The damn Americans won't be satisfied until they've managed to bastardize the entire English language." Harry slammed into his office, temper raging, fingers ripping at the silk tie around his neck. Pulling the knot free, he yanked the bottom of his white dress shirt free of his trousers, back to the door as be began undoing the buttons.

Eyebrow raised, Ruth quietly closed the door, gaze on him as she crossed to his desk. "And here I thought you'd be angry that I spilled tea down your front," she muttered, opening his bottom drawer to pull free the fresh shirt he kept there. "No, instead you're going to stand here and attack our cousins across the pond." Shaking the fabric free, she checks it for pins. "That's a special kind of logic you've got going on there Harry, very English."

"Exactly!" Turning around, Harry yanked the soiled shirt free, dropping it to the floor, eyes meeting hers in blind furry. Hand reaching out, he snags the new shirt from her hand, setting it on his desk.

"Harry!" she yelped, lip catching between her teeth as she looks up at him. "I'm sorry I spilled tea on you, it was an _accident_." Stepping back slightly, she drops her hands. "It's just she said something about your pants -"

"Don't you start with the pants!"

"You're angry at me for saying pants?!" Brow furrowed, she looks between his eyes and his soiled trousers.

"These," he says with exasperation, "are not _pants._ "

"I know," Ruth says, "but Christine is American. Chances are she's going to call them pants."

Harry growled, hands reaching for his belt. Undoing the buckle, he quickly pulled it free from the loops, dropping it to the floor before going back to undo his fly.

"Harry," Ruth says, voice a loud squeak as she watches his masculine hands push the fabric down. "What are you doing?"

"Proving a point." His voice is laced with frustration as he shoves the gray material down, waistband landing around his ankles. With a single finger, he points at the purple trunks snuggling protecting his gentleman's garden. " _These_ are pants." Dark eyes meeting hers, he shifts his finger to the trousers pooled round his feet, "those are trousers."

Ruth stares at the muscled, tan legs he's revealed, the light golden hairs just visible, and she swallows audibly as her gaze lands on his growing arousal. Eyes wide, she meets his eyes again, a million thoughts running through her mind as she tries to decide her next move. Swallowing once, she decides to throw caution to the wind and leaps, her arms wrapping around his neck as she lands against him, mouth latching onto his.

Harry wraps his arms around her, pulling her close as he stumbles backwards into his desk. Soon, both the pants and trousers are gone, as are the rest of their clothes.


End file.
